


Strangest Triggers

by CrzA



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Blushing, Embarrassment, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Shyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrzA/pseuds/CrzA
Summary: A grain of rice is stuck somewhere it shouldn't, and it's the trigger to a realisation that had apparently been a long time coming.
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56





	Strangest Triggers

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH OKAY I DID IT AGAIN I'M SO SORRY BUT ALSO NOT BECAUSE I'M HAVING FUN PLEASE FORGIVE MY SIMPLE MIND

It’s a quiet afternoon like any other, Leblanc sitting empty of any real customers that might bring some form of profit to the café since Sojiro closed for the day to spend some time with Futaba. None of Akira’s friends count as customers, really, but Yusuke most of all, seeing as he always tends to cook for him when he comes around, and more than usual, no less, always worried that he might not be feeding enough on his own time. He always eats so earnestly, scarfing down anything that Akira cooks up no matter how adventurous he decides to get with the recipe, and today is no exception.

Sitting with his head propped up by one hand, Akira can’t help the upwards quirk to the corners of his lips as he watches Yusuke savour the curry across from him, appreciate today’s choice of spices with a little satisfied hum when he swallows, going right back in for another spoonful with nary a word. He is so enraptured by his friend’s contented expression, by the way life seems to shine back into his eyes with renewed energy, that he can hardly think clearly when he sees a lone grain of rice stuck to Yusuke’s pale cheek, sticking out even further by how he continuously stuffs the food into his mouth. Before he can even make sense of what he’s doing, he has reached over the table with his free hand, a thumb casually wiping at the offending piece of rice, and Yusuke’s eyes widen in surprise at the sudden gesture.

At the sight of Yusuke’s mild shock, Akira snaps out of his apparent trance, realising what he has done, the inherent intimacy of it all, and for a few heartbeats, he sits frozen, only one thought echoing in his mind as he sucks in the image before him along with the sharp breath that hisses past his teeth. _Ah… has he always looked this beautiful…_

And the moment the words truly register, their meaning becoming clearer when coupled with his instinctive action, Yusuke appears to lean into his touch ever so slightly, almost as if he is barely conscious of the movement. His heart skips a beat as he is overcome with a picture of Yusuke’s outfit in the metaverse, blending with an even unlikelier fantasy, where fluffy ears poke from between his friend’s locks and the tail isn’t merely an attachment to his belt, swinging happily as he strokes underneath his chin. Akira’s fingers twitch with a need to replicate that mental image.

“Is something the matter?” Yusuke asks softly, the sound of his deep voice stopping him short of doing anything but drawing his gaze down to the lips that uttered the words, the gentle sheen of a slight dampness to them from the meal he is not yet done with, and Akira is hit with the overwhelming urge to kiss them.

Finally falling back into reality, into himself, Akira quickly recoils, wondering how long he had actually been touching Yusuke, the notion of time completely warped as he got lost in depths of his subconscious. A nervous laugh tumbles out of him, so unbearably uncharacteristic even he feels the need to cringe, and he diverts his gaze down to his own plate, barely a dent made to the considerable serving portion.

“Nothing. You just had some rice stuck to your cheek, sorry.” Akira chokes out, his breaths coming out stuttered as he brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Ah, my apologies.” Yusuke shifts, reaching for the small napkin beside his plate and wiping at the spot where Akira had touched. “How uncouth of me.”

Akira watches out of the corner of his eye as he wipes at nothing, the rice already long gone, and he feels irrationally upset, as if Yusuke is somehow rubbing away his touch with one completely reasonable and innocent gesture. The pang of hurt that stems from deep in his chest is so unjustified, so nonsensical, yet in light of it, everything takes on a clarity that Akira hadn’t realised he so desperately needed. A certain fog lifts from the memories of his interactions with Yusuke, of the moments they shared, the way he looked forward to whenever he was free to spend time together with him.

Each and every time he caught himself reaching for his phone to snap a picture of a seemingly inconspicuous scene with the thought that Yusuke might enjoy the composition, perhaps find some inspiration in the flap of a bird’s wings as it flew across the frame, seems to gain a whole new meaning. The many moments when he was alone on his free time, wondering if Yusuke was free before checking his messages and feeling a pang of disappointment at finding none from him, suddenly make so much more sense. Even when there were others requesting a few hours with him, a sadness still lingered under the excitement of getting to spend time with a friend, no matter who they were.

On the flip side of that coin, whenever Yusuke asks if he’s free to hang out, it doesn’t quite matter to Akira whoever else might have invaded his messages that same day. It never really feels like a hard choice.

Feeling his appetite all but escape him, Akira stands from the booth without saying anything, taking his nearly full plate inside and neatly storing the leftovers in a takeaway box. Perhaps he will feel hungry again later, once Yusuke leaves and Akira’s newly-found painful awareness of his presence isn’t making his stomach churn—not unpleasantly, but also not quite pleasantly either; he feels a little sick with the butterflies suddenly fluttering in his gut. But then again, maybe he will just let Yusuke take this with him. He could have a warm homecooked meal tomorrow that way, if they don’t get to be together again then.

Biting on the inside of his lip, Akira runs a hand through his messy hair, resisting the urge to groan. Instead, he focuses on busying himself, noticing that Yusuke has finished his meal while he was lost in thought and retrieving the empty plate to the kitchen, turning on the tap. He gets started on the mind-numbingly menial task, feeling Yusuke’s eyes burn holes into him the entire time.

It’s not like he doesn’t know that he is acting weird. He’s not usually this fidgety, and he doesn’t tend to have any trouble looking anyone in the eye, and now here he is, pointedly avoiding looking directly in Yusuke’s direction with his hands shaking just enough to make him lose his grip on the plates and cups one too many times.

But what is he even supposed to do with this realisation that has hit him like a ton of bricks falling out of the sky?

It feels a little stupid, if Akira thinks about it. Many times before, when hanging out with the girls he is closest with, he had this vague notion that if he chose his words carefully, he could be in a relationship with any of them about now. All it would have taken was for him to make a move, but he didn’t feel the need, didn’t quite want things to go in that particular direction. And now, every fibre of his being _aches_ with a need to try and take that step with Yusuke, his gaze begging to stick to his lips, as if pulling him into a gravitational pull that he will never be able to escape if he gets caught in it.

Perhaps what really scares him is that, unlike the girls, he has no real clue how Yusuke will respond. He is such a wild card sometimes, unpredictable in how he reacts to the simplest things. But that’s part of what Akira now realises is so charming about him, drawing him in, ensnaring him in the intricacies of his peculiar mind. He really has it bad, doesn’t he?

The steady stream of water cuts off as Akira turns off the tap, setting the last plate on the drying rack and turning around to finally face his friend to ask him if he wants company walking to the station like usual, ignoring the tiny voice in his head that questions if it’s wise to spend even a second longer with him now. And when he does, he comes face to face with Yusuke, so close the tips of their noses almost brush together, and his heart jumps right to his throat, a gasp blowing past his parted lips as he jolts backwards, hitting the counter and rattling the washed dishes annoyingly loudly in the quiet of the empty café.

There’s a frown twisting Yusuke’s features as he pins Akira with his gaze, and he can’t take his eyes off of it, the desire to just dissolve the scowl with the touch of his own lips threatening to consume him. Akira feels blood rush up to his cheeks, making his face feel as if it has suddenly caught on fire, the rest of his body apparently wanting to follow suit as a burning sensation spreads throughout him. His fingers curl around the edge of the counter in a futile attempt to keep himself from lunging at his friend.

“Did I do something to upset you?” Yusuke asks simply, his brow furrowing in concern as he seems to scan Akira head to toe. He wants to shudder. “Or are you perhaps sick? Your complexion looks positively worrying.”

Akira should deny it, assure him he is fine, but all words turn to ash on his tongue, his mouth suddenly feeling impossibly dry. It’s as if he is back at the beginning of the school year, spineless, without a single clue how to interact with other people, all the progress he has made improving his social skills completely tossed out the window. Is this what having love on the brain does? Makes him an utterly useless mess?

Long, somewhat cool fingers brush some locks of Akira’s hair off his forehead before a palm presses against it, and he swears something must have punched him, because all the air gets knocked right out of him then and there. His vision fills with spots for a beat, his knees tremble a little—Akira worries he might actually pass out until Yusuke’s voice tethers him to reality once more.

“You do feel rather warm… Are you coming down with something?” Maybe he is. “Shall I take you to bed?” And that definitely isn’t helping him feel any better.

If Akira didn’t know any better, hadn’t spent enough time with Yusuke to know he has no idea how that question sounds to his ears, what it does to him when he is already this close to spinning out, he might have thought he was doing it on purpose. Akira is suddenly struck with the notion that Yusuke would make a terrifyingly good tease if he weren’t so oblivious that it’s never actually his intention.

_Ah, what torture… Is this punishment for my sins, my cocky arrogance thrown back in my face by such an innocently devious soul?_

As if the energy to fight it any longer seeps right out of his body, Akira leans forwards, his head resting on Yusuke’s shoulder.

“A-Akira?”

His friend jerks initially, tensing just enough for Akira to notice, and the breathy way in which he whispers his name is so unbearably enticing he feels as if he is ready to melt at the sound, holding onto Yusuke’s waist for support and gripping his shirt tightly. There is such a softness to his tone that Akira feels dirty finding it so incredibly seductive, wondering if his voice had ever been so honey-sweet and he was just now drowning in the waves of its devastating flavour. And then a hand tentatively reaches over to tangle between his curls, making it all so much more overwhelming. Akira wants to whine, the touch so hesitant it’s barely there, but he feels it so intensely it sends shivers crawling down his spine.

“This is unfair…” Akira whispers, his breath fogging up his glasses, which he realises are in the way of him nuzzling Yusuke’s neck.

He doesn’t care, nosing at the crook where it meets his shoulder anyway, taking in his scent. No matter how well he bathes, he always smells vaguely of paint. Akira realises it’s comforting.

“A-are you okay?” Yusuke mutters after a few heartbeats of silence, and Akira merely shakes his head in response. He’s not, he feels like he is slowly but surely tearing apart at the seams, the feelings he had been harbouring unravelling like a loose string on an old shirt. “Then what can I do to help? I will do anything I can to ease whatever torments you.”

“Anything?” Akira breathes, the question almost desperate, and he doesn’t quite know if he regrets voicing his desire so obviously.

Closing his eyes, he holds Yusuke tighter, a million and one things he is now sure that he has never wanted so badly crossing his mind. Yusuke is too earnest, too honest not to mean it. If Akira indulged the darkest of his yearnings, Yusuke might just say yes, believing it would make him feel better. What fearsome power dances on his hands right now…

“Stay a little longer.” He ends up saying, begging really. “Take a later train to the dorms and just… hold me like this, please.”

“Akira…”

It’s simple enough, isn’t it? A little strange of a request, no doubt, but he could pass it off as a moment of feverish insanity if need be; it is the flu season after all. But then his body acts as if it has a mind of its own, his face pressing further into Yusuke’s neck, lips brushing against sensitive skin, and if that weren’t incriminating enough, he chokes on a moan when his friend’s breath hitches in response. This is dangerous, so wonderfully dangerous. One wrong step and Akira will fall into an abyss, lose sight of Yusuke altogether rather than have him there to catch him, perhaps even fall right with him. Yet he keeps pushing his luck, quickly growing addicted to the thrill of the risk with each delectable reward he receives.

If he presses his body to Yusuke just so, will he push him away or give into the embrace even more? True to his capricious nature, Yusuke surprises him by burying his fingers further into his hair, bending his neck barely perceptibly, almost like he is baring it for Akira to take another step across this tight-rope he has found himself on. His better judgement all but forgotten, Akira lets his mouth fall open the tiniest bit, inhaling deeply then closing his lips around the column of his throat in a semblance of a kiss. He tells himself it’s as close to it as he will dare, but then Yusuke trembles at the sensation, a broken hum rumbling deep in his chest as his grip on him tightens, and Akira can’t stop himself from pulling back enough to look up at his face, wanting to see what gorgeous expression matches that little noise.

What he finds is unlike anything he has ever laid eyes upon, more beautiful than any piece of art any human could ever make—no, that’s not quite right; Yusuke himself is the work of art, the epitome of what he means to create himself. Only the hands of someone who is the very embodiment of beauty can faithfully reproduce it on a blank canvas. Looking at the light splashes of red spread across his pale cheeks, the light sheen to his grey eyes, the quivering of his lower lip as he sucks in a stuttered breath, Akira is certain that if Yusuke could see it, he would finally find whatever he thinks his pieces are missing.

Is it this spell he is under, or does it feel like Yusuke’s face is getting closer? Is it him that’s moving? He is sure that all his muscles have locked him in place, so maybe…

His lids fall closed for a few seconds… and in that painfully short window of time… thin lips press against his own, there and gone so quickly that Akira has to ask himself if it was nothing but a cruel illusion. But even if it was, it has unlocked something within him, released the last bit of restraint that held him back from seeking what he only just discovered he craves, and he brings his hands up to frame Yusuke’s face.

Yusuke looks like he might apologise for doing something he shouldn’t, but Akira doesn’t let him get a single word in before closing the short distance between them once more, urgent to the point that he crashes their teeth together in his haste to not let him pull back any more than he already had. The minor shock that draws a small gasp out of him presents the perfect opportunity for Akira to sneak his tongue past Yusuke’s parted lips, get a taste of the spice still lingering on his own, but then the sound of keys jingling into a lock startles him back against the counter, one of the cups rolling off the rack and crashing loudly into the sink.

Akira twists on his heel with a quiet curse, grabbing at the cup as Sojiro steps into the closed café with an inquisitive hum. Thankfully, the glass remains intact, and Akira lets out a sigh of relief, picking it up and returning it to its rightful place while Yusuke clears his throat and shifts awkwardly, putting a little more distance between them.

“You’re still here? I would have thought you’d be heading home by now.” Sojiro observes, walking past them to retrieve something he must have forgotten behind the counter earlier before closing Leblanc, leaving them to finish the curry in peace.

Akira might have said something to justify it, but he is once again at a complete loss for words, head spinning slightly as it sinks in what actually happened and he tries to make sense of it.

“I have some matters to discuss with Akira. I might stay a little later than usual.” Yusuke offers instead, and Akira feels like he can’t breathe properly, a furious blush making its home on his face that he hopes is sufficiently hidden by the hair falling over it as he leans his weight on the counter as inconspicuously as he can manage.

Sojiro hums, and Akira feels his gaze sweep over them both, a nervous sweat rolling off his temple at the thought that he might know what they were doing and berate them, curse them out. “Well, just be safe then, you two.” He offers enigmatically, and Akira nods stiffly in response, waiting until the door closes and locks once more to finally lift his head once more.

Akira almost expected Yusuke to be avoiding looking at him too, but when he turns his way, he sees him staring intently instead, his features woefully blank. He swallows thickly, eyes flickering from Yusuke’s surprisingly good poker face to a random corner of the room. It’s a good thing Morgana is with Futaba right now. Akira doesn’t think he’d be able to handle whatever jabs he would surely have to contribute to the tension of this situation.

“What was that?” Yusuke eventually breaks the suffocating silence, still giving nothing away but for the determination in his eyes.

“Any chance I can use my charm to convince you to forget this ever happened?”

“Afraid not.”

“Thought so…” Akira rubs at the back of his neck.

“You seemed rather bold not too long ago.” Yusuke points out, taking a step closer and sending Akira’s heart on an eager attempt to beat straight out of his chest.

“It was the heat of the moment.” He tries to explain, bringing his hand further up to pretend to feel his temperature. “You might be right. Maybe I have a fever and I’m not thinking straight.”

“You are most certainly not.” Yusuke agrees, grabbing at his wrist and tugging it down, pull _him_ closer and right into his arms. “But you must take responsibility now.”

“Y-you kissed me first.” Akira shoots in return, doing his best not to lose his train of thought all over again when Yusuke’s lips are just a hairsbreadth away.

“Tch,” That seems to catch him off-guard, backing away enough for Akira to breathe again, to gather his bearings for a split second and lean onto the fridge, throw his head back and will his wretched heart to settle down for just one damn minute.

“I’m sorry.” He eventually brings himself to say. “For…” For what? He doesn’t actually feel sorry about anything that happened, does he? “If I made you uncomfortable, then…”

“You did no such thing.” Yusuke assures, running a hand through his silky hair with a sigh, closing his eyes for a few beats before facing Akira once again. “I simply was not expecting it. And _I_ got caught in the heat of the moment… of you. Do you… want to take it back?”

“No!” Akira blurts as he dives for Yusuke’s hands, not even taking a second to process the explosion of unpleasant feelings that takes place in his gut at the very thought. He squeezes gently, once, and doesn’t let go. “I really don’t.”

Nodding, Yusuke exhales sharply, looking down into Akira’s eyes, deep into his soul, and he smiles. It’s a small little thing, barely a full curl of his lips, but it is somehow even more disarming than the borderline frantic expression from before, the flush on his cheekbones softer but just as alluring, and that innocence he holds in most everything he does on full display.

 _Fuck,_ Akira thinks, completely defeated, _I really do love him, don’t I?_

“Good. I did not want you to either. But Akira…”

“Yeah?”

“Why now?”

Why indeed… If he knew that, perhaps he would have been better prepared for it, it wouldn’t have consumed him so completely in such a short amount of time. Maybe he would have been able to process it before jumping in blindly, with no safety net to speak of, drunk off the novelty of this feeling.

Rather than come up with an answer that would surely be unsatisfactory for now, Akira leans up, taking Yusuke’s lips one more time, carefully, softly, feeling him move with him as a hand slips away from his hold to rest on the small of his back. It doesn’t last very long, and it definitely isn’t as hungry as what he had gone for earlier, but it is just as delightful, his heart squeezing deliciously with the emotions bubbling within his soul, fit to burst.

“Well, I suppose that is as good a reply as any…” Yusuke considers once they fully part, fingertips feeling the swell of his lips where Akira’s had just been pressing.

“A piece of rice where it shouldn’t be.” Akira says anyway, shrugging as he lets out a little sigh, pulling the apron he realises he is still wearing over his head and folding it neatly over the counter. “I don’t know… Some things just… don’t really make a whole lot of sense. They have the strangest triggers.”

Yusuke hums, somehow understanding whatever the hell he means to convey. Leave it to him to find meaning where there probably isn’t any, such are the works of the mind of an artist.

Going back into the kitchen to get the leftovers box, Akira hands it to Yusuke with a little smile, their fingertips brushing as he takes it from him. He holds it with care, making sure he has a good grip on it so it won’t meet an untimely demise, and his red-tinged cheek sinks as he appears to bite into it, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“Thank you, Akira. For looking after me.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Akira replies honestly, bashfully tugging at a lock of his hair near his glasses’ frame. “Maybe you can look after me now too, in other aspects.”

With another resolute nod, Yusuke leans down himself, taking Akira’s willing lips in another tentative kiss, as if testing whether he could get used to it in time. “Though I may not really know much in regards to the ways of the heart, I will do my best to cherish yours.”

“I look forward to it, then.”

With that, Yusuke waits for Akira to open the door for them, walking side by side to the station and lingering by the gates before finally saying their goodbyes. Even with Yusuke gone, Akira waits a few more minutes, a hand over his chest, feeling the frenzied pounding of his heart beneath his palm. Part of him kind of wishes Yusuke would come running back, take him in his arms and not let go for the longest time. But of course he doesn’t, that would just be too cheesy, taken straight out of one of those romance movies Ann always insists on dragging him to the theatre for.

Sighing to himself, Akira turns around to make the short walk back to Leblanc, meeting Morgana by the door as he looks up at him smugly. Akira raises an eyebrow at him.

“You know, Futaba-chan’s spyware is awfully advanced.”

Akira’s blush returns with a vengeance, an angry red that makes him look undoubtedly ill, and he chooses to ignore the comment entirely, shoving the key into the door and immediately racing to bed. His still rather empty stomach complains throughout the night as he buries his head under his pillow for the rest of it, trying to muffle Morgana’s snickering until sleep decides to mercifully take him.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading and feel free to leave any comments you may have! You can find me on tumblr [@crzangel](https://crzangel.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@CrzAngel96!](https://twitter.com/CrzAngel96)


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